


hope you make it alright

by spiekiel



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Excessive Cursing, M/M, Vigilantism, that about sums it up, tony's contact in matt's phone is "booty call"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiekiel/pseuds/spiekiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is bleeding out in a dumpster.  </p><p>This is going to be the most pathetic obituary ever.  Blind man tries to fight crime, stabbed seventeen times, discovered two days later with a banana peel in his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope you make it alright

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [hope you make it alright](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10337486) by [Bat_out_of_hell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bat_out_of_hell/pseuds/Bat_out_of_hell)



> why is this even a pairing. why am i writing it. questions that haunt me.

“So kid, I see the cane, but are you like, well and truly blind?”

 

Matt’s sitting at the bar in some bass-heavy club in the nice part of town, three drinks into his night and starting to seriously consider the possibility that his date has stood him up.There is, now, some drunk schmuck sitting on the stool next to him and half hanging off Matt’s shoulders like he owns the place.

 

Matt isn’t really in the mood to knock out this dumb schmuck, so instead he says, “Well and truly.”

 

Which - not exactly true.He can see the outline of the guy’s form, just one more pulsating orange body at the foreground of a lot of other pulsating orange bodies, semi-shapeless in motion, can see a bright steady glow where he’d normally expect the guy’s heartbeat to be.Kind of strange, but not worth that much thought when Matt already has a warm, happy buzz going.

 

The guy claps him on the back.“Fantastic,” he says, words slurred at the edges and loud enough to be heard over the ruckus the rest of the club is making.“I need some unbiased advice, kid, and everyone who sees my face tends to form an opinion like - _fast_.Right away.”

 

“Being blind doesn’t make me wise,” Matt says back loudly.“Common misconception, but - “

 

“Don’t care,” the guy interrupts.“You want another beer? I’ll get you another beer.”One glowing orange arm flags down the bartender, and then the guy’s leaning in close, his arm still around Matt’s shoulders, breath hot and sharp with alcohol in the air around Matt’s face.“So, there’s this guy I work with, right? Complete fucking golden boy, has the whole, uh - office - wrapped around his finger.”

 

Matt’s beer comes, and he downs half of it in one go, because he’s not drunk enough to be giving advice to a random schmuck in a club who saw the cane and now thinks he’s Yoda or something.

 

“Anyway, he’s a fucking stick in the mud, this guy, but he shows up six months ago out of the blue like he owns the place, even though we’ve been doing fine for seventy years without him, what the fuck.”The guy pauses to knock back something that smells strong, like vodka and Jagermeister, but doesn’t miss a beat, talking before the glass clinks back down on the bar, “Also, I mostly hate him.”

 

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Matt says, grinning a little.

 

“I’ve gotten very good at hiding it,” the guy says.“You know, professionalism and shit.”

 

Matt laughs, and takes a swig of beer.  

 

“So now, I mean - our boss has always been a stickler for team bonding, but whatever, no one cares what Nicky thinks, it’s not like he pays me anyways - but now, my, uh - friend? ex-girlfriend? light of my life - Pepper, she thinks that I should make nice with this guy, you know, _for the good of the team_.And Steve’s good at his job, okay, he’s a good leader, but like, he sucks.Also, my ego.”

 

He stops, and even evacuates Matt’s personal space a little bit to wave down the bartender.Matt figures the abrupt end to the rambling is probably his cue, so he says, “Honestly, this sounds like a _you_ problem.”

 

Stark - because Matt’s really good with voices, and Foggy got excited enough about _real life superheros, man_ to watch the Iron Man press conference like eighty times in a row, and also, _my coworker Steve who was missing for seventy years_ is kind of a dead giveaway - Stark splutters and says, “Obviously you don’t have enough information, allow me to rectify that - “

 

“No, look, you wanted impartial advice?” Matt holds up his hands like he can physically stop the outpouring of words, which - in a perfect world, maybe.“Unless you want to quit your job, which would be dramatic, you’re going to have to just suck it up.There’s no _I_ in _team_.And all that.”

 

Stark knocks back another drink, exhaling loudly after he swallows.“But Steve is the _worst_.He’s all about like, morals, and shit.And manners. _Fuck_ , the manners.I don’t need that shit.”

 

“Well,” Matt grins, “as awful as you make this Steve guy sound, he’s Captain America, so he must have a few redeeming qualities.I think you can find a way to work with him.”

 

“Fuck,” Stark says, drunkenly, “I thought you were blind, kid, what the.What.”

 

Matt finishes off his beer, raising his eyebrows.“I’m blind, not dumb.Also, I hope the Avengers don’t do covert ops, because you are complete shit at them.”

 

“Great,” Stark says.He downs another drink, and he can really hold his liquor, Matt’s four beers in and already kind of unbalanced.“So, I’m Tony Stark, nice to meet you.”  

 

He sticks out his hand, and Matt forgets to be blind for a second and shakes it, but Stark doesn’t seem to notice, or care.“Matt Mur - “ he starts to say, but- 

 

The ambiguous orange mass that is Stark moves back into his personal space, he feels a hand on the back of his head, a beard scraping his cheek, hears, “Don’t care, gorgeous,” in his ear, and then Stark is bending down and licking into his mouth, wet and filthy and completely unapologetic.  

 

An unexpected turn of events, to say the least.But Matt came out tonight to get laid, and he was expecting Jen from his Accounting 229 class, not a billionaire, but, well, this is better.He’s leaning forward into Stark without any input from his brain, tilting his head for a deeper angle, and the hard abs under his hands when he stands up and snakes a hand around Stark’s waist feel better than soft curves, anyways.

 

When Stark pulls away with a parting bite at Matt’s lip, he manages to reason, “This is a bad idea.”

 

Stark’s mouth is still close enough to his that Matt can feel his smile.“Haven’t you heard, I’m a big supporter of bad ideas.”

 

 _What the fuck_ , Matt thinks.

 

He loses a few minutes, forgets his cane inside, but then he’s being pushed down into the back seat of Stark’s towncar, the man himself sliding in behind him, door slamming closed.  

 

“You, kid, are fucking _gorgeous_ ,” Stark is saying, sucking a sloppy hickey into Matt’s throat, his hands already past the flimsy fortifications of Matt’s button down shirt, callused fingers dragging down Matt’s sides.“Where does a blind guy go getting a body like this, _fuck_ , also, your ass is perfect, never change - “

 

Matt gets a hand in Stark’s hair and tugs, slamming their mouths back together.Stark growls in the back of his throat, Matt can taste the vibrations, and it’s definitely been too long since he’s had sex because Stark grinds his hips hard against his, and the pressure on his cock is really fucking with his lung capacity.  

 

He gets his hands in Stark’s back pockets, digs his fingers into his ass and pulls him forward again, harder than the first time, and this time it’s Stark who pulls his tongue out of Matt’s mouth and swears, “Fuck, yes, good, great, can I suck you off?”

 

Matt’s breath catches in his throat, his hips buck involuntarily into Stark’s, and Stark laughs low and dirty intothe skin of Matt’s neck, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

“Yes,” Matt remembers to say, a few seconds too late, because Stark’s already got the fly of his jeans undone and his cock out of his underwear, squeezing the base lightly while he breathes hot over the head, Matt’s mouth is open and his eyes are shut and when Stark swallows him down he moans, and it’s the sluttiest sound he’s ever heard come out of his own mouth.

 

He fucks up into the heat of Stark’s mouth, and Stark lets him, grabs big handfuls of Matt’s ass when he arches off the seat and palms it.Matt’s fingers are digging into the leather seat, everything is the rush of blood in his ears and the relentless suction of Stark’s mouth until Stark does something amazing with the pad of his tongue, just the barest hint of teeth scraping Matt’s cock, and he comes like a firecracker.

 

Stark swallows like a pro, and then suddenly his mouth is gone.Matt registers distantly the sound of a phone ringing, Stark talking in a sharp tone, and he blinks hard to get his senses back in order.

 

“Yeah, no, sure, right away, I wasn’t busy or anything,” Stark is saying crisply.“Fucker.”There’s a soft beep as he hangs up the phone, and then his hands are on Matt’s thighs.“Sorry, kid, duty calls.”

 

The car door is opened by some other indistinct orange form outside, and Matt’s being ushered out of the car.He barely remembers to tuck his cock back into his pants, and then Stark is plastered back across his front, kissing him langorous and filthy again.  

 

He pulls back.“Gimme your phone.”

 

Matt pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over.His hair is probably sticking in every direction, he knows his glasses are crooked, and the night air feels sharp-cold after the orgasm he’s just had.

 

“Here,” Stark presses his phone back into his hand.“I owe you for the advice, kid.My number’s in there.You need anything, you just call.”

 

Then he’s gone, the car door is slamming, and tires squeal as it takes off into the drunk blur of the city.

 

“Bye,” Matt says to the empty street.

 

He thinks, in a sort of shocked far-off way, that the blow job was probably payment enough for his half-assed advice, but.Whatever.What.Friends in high places, and all that.

 

†

 

Matt is bleeding out in a dumpster.This is going to be the most pathetic obituary ever.Blind man tries to fight crime, stabbed seventeen times, discovered two days later with a banana peel in his hair.

 

He can’t call Foggy.Foggy will ask dumb questions like _why are you dying, who stabbed you, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to become a vigilante._ He can’t call Jen from Accounting 229, who he’s been sleeping with, because she’d probably do the responsible thing, like call the cops, or take him to a hospital, both of which - bad.  

 

He can’t call - well, he doesn’t really know anyone else well enough to call them at three in the morning.Columbia law and masked vigilantism tend to take up a lot of a guy’s time.Friends aren’t high on Matt’s list of priorities at this point in his life.  

 

Since he’s out of options, short of rolling home, because he sure as fuck can’t walk, Matt digs into his pants and pulls out his phone.He unlocks it, turns on voice control, and says, “Call Tony Stark.”

 

“Calling Tony Stark,” the computer responds calmly.Matt’s shirt is completely stuck to his front with blood, and his breathing is - not good, coming in sharp little pants that aren’t getting enough oxygen to his brain.

 

The phone rings four times, and on the fifth ring, Stark’s voice says, “I don’t know how you got the number to my personal line, but - “

 

“Stark,” Matt gurgles.There’s blood on his tongue.That’s probably not a good sign.Maybe he should have let Jen from Accounting take him to the hospital, after all.“I need a ride.”

 

“Who’s this, again?”  

 

Matt sucks in a breath that sounds more like some horror movie ghost howl than a human.“Matt Murdock.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Matt,” Matt repeats, in case Stark missed that part, somehow.“You blew me in the back of your car.”

 

“Gonna have to be a little more specific, buddy.”He can hear Stark’s smile, and it’s a little infuriating because he’s three quarters of the way to dead, here, and this is _not_ helping.  

 

“The blind guy,” he says, gasping for breath.“You said if I ever needed anything - “

 

“Oh yeah, hey gorgeous, how you doing? Is this a booty call? Because if it is I am _so_ on board - “

 

“This is _not_ a booty call,” Matt snaps.“You said if I ever needed anything I could call you, and now I need a ride.”He waits for a long minute, head getting more and more numb with every bassing second, and when Stark doesn’t reply he says, “It’s actually very - “ there’s a random stabbing pain in his side, and he grits his teeth and growls, “time-sensitive.”

 

“You get a free favor from a billionaire and you use it for taxi service?” Stark asks incredulously.“Super boring, we need to work on your imagination if we’re going to keep this going - “

 

“Stark,” Matt bites out.“I’m on tenth and - forty-sixth, I think - “

 

“Hell’s Kitchen? What are you doing all the way down there, kid?”  

 

“If I’m still alive when you get your ass down here, I’ll tell you then,” Matt says, and even his voice sounds like it’s dying, which is apparently enough to kick Stark into gear, because he says, “Shit, sounds serious, I’ll take something speedy,” and hangs up. 

 

Matt, in a miraculous second wind of adrenalin, manages to get himself up, out of the dumpster, and to the edge of the alley with only minor blunt force trauma to the head.At least half of his blood has to be out of his body, by now, and slowly assimilating into the sidewalk, and he could black out any second now.He takes off his mask and drops it on the ground next to him.Some time passes.He doesn’t know how much.

 

He half expects Stark to land in the Iron Man suit.Instead, he pulls up in something with a much more ostentatious engine, the vibrations from which Matt can feel against the bottom of his feet.  

 

He hears the sound of a window rolling down.Stark’s voice calls, “Hey, kid, you wanna get in?”

 

Matt tries to stand up.It doesn’t work so well.He falls back with his shoulders against the brick wall of the building behind him and focuses on regulating his breathing until he has enough breath to say, “I can’t walk.”

 

The car door opens, and slammed closed, engine still running, and then there’s a pulsing orange form crouching in front of him.There are hands on his face, slapping his cheeks lightly, and the soft sting brings him back to present-time, his ears focusing in on, “Hey, no, wake up.Shit, is that blood? Are you bleeding? Come on, wake up.Why the fuck did you call me, and not 911, come on - “

 

Matt coughs.Blood gurgles past his lips.He probably spatters Stark a little bit.“Sorry,” he croaks.“No hospital.Just take me to - my apartment.Yeah.I’ll be fine.Just.”  

 

Stark’s hands are on his chest, patting around to his sides, and then there’s an arm under his and he’s being hoised to his feet, which is a terrible fucking idea.He should have rolled home.He lets loose a long whine of hurt as Stark tries to move him towards the car, mostly dragging him, and then he’s deposited face first against the hood while Stark opens the door.A moment later he’s manhandled inside, painfully.

 

He lets his head fall back against the seat while the driver’s side door opens and closes.“2837 Amsterdam,” he grunts, one hand pressed over three of his slowly oozing stab wounds.He stretches his hand to try and cover a fourth with his thumb, and his wrist pops, a bright spot in the haze of pain.

 

“No way am I dumping you alone,” Stark says.Matt feels the car pull away from the curb.“You’re mostly dead.I’ll take you back to Avengers HQ, patch you up good as new.”His voice sounds steady, he’s good in a crisis, probably from experience, but Matt can hear his heart beating double time.

 

Matt doesn’t protest, mostly because he’s essentially unconscious.He hears vaguely on the edge of his awareness Stark swearing, saying, “If you fucking die on my upholstery, kid - “

 

†

 

Matt wakes up in an unfamiliar-feeling room, alone.  

 

Not that he’s expecting anyone to be there.He wasn’t really expecting to wake up at all, to be honest, so this is a pleasant surprise.Some machine is beeping next to his ear, the air conditioning is running loudly overhead, and he can hear muffled voices somewhere out in the hallway, the loud cadence of a TV a few floors down, the hum-thwap-thwap of someone on a treadmill on the floor above.

 

He can’t hear any traffic, which means he’s too high up for that, which is puzzling.The sheets under his fingers are a higher thread count than even those on his own bed at home, and he’s in scrubs, not a hospital gown, which means he can’t be anywhere in Hell’s Kitchen.He remembers - Tony Stark.And blood.

 

Matt sits up slowly, his entire torso lighting up with jabbing pains.His head is throbbing, too, which seems unfair, but nothing seems to be bleeding or broken anymore, so he keeps going until his legs are over the side of the bed, feet on the cold tiles, the muscles of his abdomen clenching and unclenching spasmatically.

 

“Master Murdock,” someone says, “I must advise that you remain in bed.”

 

Matt starts.He looks around, but there are no people in the room, and he can’t hear any heartbeats in the vicinity.The voice had sounded like it was right on top of him.“Who’s there?” he says.

 

“Apologies, Master Murdock.I am JARVIS, Master Stark’s artificial intelligence computer system.I have alerted Master Stark and Doctor Banner to your awakening, and I must suggest you remain in bed until their arrival, lest you risk reopening your wounds.”

 

Murdocks have always been terrible patients.Matt eases to his feet, pausing for a moment to get his bearings, and then hobbles towards the door.Luckily it’s unlocked.In the hallway, he takes a moment to get a feel for the flow of air through the building, and then starts moving towards the exit.

 

A door opens somewhere behind him, and there are two sets of footsteps catching up with his, then he hears, “So, kid, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, huh?”

 

Matt stops, leaning against the wall of the hallway, and turns around.“Yeah.Don’t be a hypocrite, Stark.”

 

“Fucking impressive,” Stark says, “with the blindness, and all.You kick ass, gorgeous.”

 

Matt doesn’t know why his lips are pulling up at the edges.It’s dumb, really.He only kind of had sex with this guy once, and then ruined the upholstery of his probably-million-dollar Bugatti.He shouldn’t be letting Stark make him smile in the middle of an antiseptic-smelling hallway in fuck-knows-where.It’s dumb.

 

“Yeah, well,” says the mild voice of the orange form next to Stark, “whoever owns the five-inch hunting knife kicked _your_ ass a couple days ago, Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, so you should really get the fuck back in bed and let me check your stitches.”

 

“You listen to the good doctor Bruce,” Stark chips.“Wouldn’t want to make him angry.”And - oh.Okay.Matt got himself sewn back together by the Hulk, that’s an interesting development.  

 

“Fine,” Matt says.

 

He sighs, and starts hobbling back the way he came.Stark meets him halfway to the door, and gets an arm around his shoulders to help him limp into the room, and Matt is going to owe _him_ after this.Hopefully he accepts payment in the form of blow jobs.Stark sits behind him on the bed and holds Matt against his front to hold him up, his lips brushing the shell of Matt’s ear and his hands on Matt’s hips, and - it feels nice.

 

Bruce peels Matt’s scrub shirt away from his torso and then sets about prodding at all the spots that hurt the most with his cold latex-gloved fingers.Matt hisses and drops his head back on Stark’s shoulder.“Are you almost done?”

 

“It’s been like thirty seconds,” Bruce says.“You’re a worse patient than Tony.Never thought I’d see the day.”His hands move around Matt’s side to poke a stab wound on the small of his back, at the same time Stark’s hands smooth over his forearm.“You _should_ be dead, though.”

 

“Thanks,” Matt grits.

 

“No, really,” Bruce says.“Seventeen stab wounds, minor concussion, mild sprained wrist, two broken toes, and did I mention _seventeen stab wounds_.You lost like 64% of your blood, any self-respecting person would have died like two pints before Tony even got to you.”

 

“I’m hard to kill,” Matt says.  

 

“Not for lack of trying, though, aparently,” Stark says.His mouth moves against the skin behind Matt’s jaw, Matt can feel the hard edge of something on Stark’s chest digging in between his shoulder blades, the heat of it like he imagines a warm glow to be.If he stops to think about it, this is a weird position to be in, supported against his one-time fuckbuddy with an honest-to-God _Avenger_ playing nurse.  

 

So he doesn’t think.

 

Bruce finishes his examination and pulls his shirt back down, stripping off his gloves.“The stitches should be able to come out in a couple of weeks,” he says.“We’ll have to re-check for internal bleeding in a couple of days, but until then you should be fine with gentle washing, and no strenuous activity.Like crime fighting.” 

 

“Justice waits for no man,” Matt says.  

 

Stark snickers into Matt’s neck.“You’re a fucking walking cliché, aren’t you kid?”

 

Matt smiles.It feels like a dopey smile.  

 

Bruce helps Stark manoeuver him back down onto the bed, laid out on top of the sheets stiffly with his head on the pillow.Matt has kind of given up all hope of escape, at this point.The treadmill on the floor above has stopped, and has been replaced by a rhythmic twang-thump that sounds like a bow and arrow.Bruce leaves quietly, and then it’s just Stark sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

“Thanks again,” Matt says, staring at the ceiling.“My roommate doesn’t know about the whole vigilante thing, and I don’t really know a whole lot of people.Also, the police tend to ask a lot of questions when there are knife wounds involved, and half of the precinct is dirty anyways - “

 

Stark kisses him.He’s not expecting it, so his lips go slack mid-sentence and his eyes go wide, and Stark backs off to say, “Sorry.You have the prettiest fucking mouth - “

 

Matt leans up and kisses him again, wrapping his hand in the front of Stark’s tee shirt to pull him down.This is familiar, the scratchiness of Stark’s goatee, the pressure of his weight over him, the skillful sweep of his tongue over Matt’s.Matt scrapes his teeth over the inside of Stark’s lower lip, rewarded with the stretch of a smile against his mouth, an encouraging moan that goes straight to his cock.  

 

Stark’s hand digs into his hip, just in the wrong spot, and Matt pulls away with a grunt.“Oops,” Stark says, “you’re injured.This probably counts as strenuous activity.I’ll just - yeah.”He straightens up.  

 

Matt’s breathing a little heavier than normal.“We should do this later,” he says, to the ceiling, “when I’m less - punctured.”Because even though his whole chest and abdomen is throbbing, his cock is still interested.

 

“Definitely,” Stark says, “yes, we should make this a regular thing.Schedule a fuck date.I’ll call you.Later.Now, I have Avengers stuff to do.Top secret Avengers stuff.”Matt’s still staring straight up, so the sound of the door opening and closing is the only clue that Stark has left.

 

Matt lets his head thunk back onto the pillow.

 

†

 

Stark actually does call, surprisingly.He calls a lot, enough that Foggy gets suspicious about Matt’s _secret girlfriend_ , enough that Matt can get past the front desk of Avengers tower without question, enough that by the time one hickey fades a new one is ready to take its place.

 

He gives Stark more bad advice about Captain America.He meets Pepper, by accident, while he’s half naked and looking for whipped cream.Stark tells him he’s the best sex he’s had since Christine Everheart, which Matt assumes is a compliment.He doesn’t sleep over unless it’s in the medical bay.The closest they get to dinner is pizza at one in the morning because they’re hungry after a particularly inventive position.

 

It’s great.It’s symbiotic.It’s exactly what Matt needs.No strings.A bedmate who can protect himself against the forces of evil.It’s the longest-lasting sexual relationship he’s ever had.

 

Two months in, and it’s finals week.His and Foggy’s apartment is a sea of textbooks (braille and regular), junk food, half-full mugs of coffee, and panic.Matt’s asleep on a box of donuts, his hand on the page of his Spanish for Civil Courts book, when his phone rings.  

 

“Booty call,” the computer says, “booty call, booty call.” 

 

He fumbles around the coffee table until he finds the loud ringing monstrosity, and answers it because if he doesn’t Stark will assume he’s died in a ditch somewhere.They’ve had that conversation too many times. “Hello,” Matt says, dragging a hand over his face like he can pull the sleep off.

 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Stark says.At this point, it’s only out of stubbornness that he never uses Matt’s name.“We just fought off a top-secret horde of malfunctioning space ocean robots in the Gulf of Mexico.”

 

“Again,” Matt says, “fucking awful with the covert ops.”Because he’s not touching the rest of that with a ten-foot pole.His ninjas and shadowy crime lords are plenty work by themselves, thanks.

 

“Whatever,” Stark says, “I have a lot of steam to blow off.Like, a shitload of steam.Come over and fuck me.”He pauses for a moment, and then, “Please.Please come over and fuck me?”

 

“Steve’s manners are rubbing off on you, huh?” Matt teases.

 

“Fuck off,” Stark says, but there’s no venom.“I’m gonna go find someone else if you don’t get your ass over here pronto.”And Matt doesn’t want to think about that.How Tony sees finding someone else as a last resort, now.

 

“It’s finals week,” he says instead.  

 

“So I imagine you have a load of stress relief to let off, too,” Stark says, too many metaphors smooshed into one.“Come on, it will do you good.Just what the doctor ordered.”

 

Matt grins.“I highly doubt Bruce signed off on this.”But he’s already walking back towards Foggy’s room, already saying, “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

 

“I may start without you,” Stark warns, and now Matt’s imagining that - the pulled taut orange lines of him, the stutter of his breath and the slick sounds of his hands - 

 

He hangs up.

 

“Hey, Foggy,” he knocks on his roommate’s door.“I’m going to head out for a while.”

 

There’s a rustling from inside.“Booty call?” Foggy asks.“During finals week, seriously?”

 

“Sorry,” Matt says, but the way he’s grinning like a loon behind his glasses probably makes the sentiment less sincere.“I’ll be back before midnight.”

 

“Bring back Indian from that place - you know the place?” Foggy asks.Matt nods.“Good, I need to get in the mood to learn a semester’s worth of Punjabi.”

 

Matt grabs a random textbook for something to do other than think about how Tony feels when he’s riding him in the cab on the way to Avengers Tower.He doesn’t absorb any of it - it’s all just long legalese words with no real meaning, not like the mental soundbyte he’s got of Tony winding up, all _faster, harder, come on kid_ , Tony coming apart, _fuck, yes, so good babe, just, almost, fuck -_

 

He’s half hard by the time he reaches the private elevator to Stark’s penthouse, JARVIS quietly informing him that Master Stark is waiting for him at the bar.He leaves his cane leaning against a couch in the sitting area, because he doesn’t need the pretense here, and walks quickly towards the orange form that he knows is Stark by the steady glow in his chest.

 

“Nice of you to join us,” Stark quips when Matt hops up the last step to the bar.

 

Then their mouths are crashing together and Stark’s pulling him in by the hips, ass pressed against the edge of the bar, one leg hitched around Matt’s waist so he can grind into him, and this is the stress relief Matt’s been needing.Not coffee, not donuts, not beating up shoplifters.This.

 

Stark palms his cock through his jeans, the zipper rough against him, and Matt pulls off to bite along the line of Stark’s jaw, down to his throat.“Fuck,” Stark gasps, harsh, heels digging in above Matt’s ass. 

 

“That’s the plan,” Matt murmurs.Stark’s fingers are in his hair, blunt nails digging into his scalp, and Matt can feel his own heartbeat quickening to match the pace of Stark’s.He scrapes his teeth over Stark’s chin, feels Stark mouth over his upper lip, and adds, “If you have lube.”

 

“Who do you think you’re fucking?” Stark asks, punctuating the question with a skillful roll of his hips.“I always have lube.Preparation is the key to great sex.” 

 

“I thought that was _imagination_ ,” Matt grins.

 

“Depends on the occasion,” Stark admits, “there are many keys to great sex.Good stamina.Lack of a gag reflex.Enough booze.A flat, sturdy surface.Privacy.Or publicity, depending on who you’re with.Creativity.Adventurousness.Daring.A certain _je ne sais quoi - “_

 

Matt uses Stark’s ass to pull their hips together hard, biting down on the junction of his neck and shoulder at the same time, and Stark’s speech turns into a moan.“Lube,” Matt insists into his reddened skin. 

 

Stark digs in his front pocket and comes up with a mostly-empty tube of it, pressing it into Matt’s hands.Matt smiles and kisses him again, stepping away from the bar with Stark’s legs still wrapped around him to move over to one of the couches, which he deposits Stark onto uncerimoniously.Stark lands with his legs spread wide, which is fucking perfect for Matt to sink down into.

 

He gets his hands under Stark’s shirt and runs it up to his armpits, tracing over the new exposed skin with his tongue.He rolls one nipple gently between his teeth, tongues it, and Stark keens, arching underneath him, the hard line of his cock pressing into Matt’s stomach, and Matt’s hips jerk down against his ass.

 

Matt works back down Stark’s chest to mouth over his cock through his jeans, the fabric already damp through two layers, and if he weren’t so fucking hard already he’d take his time to peel Stark’s pants off with his teeth, but.He makes short work of Stark’s fly, shoves his jeans down around his knees, then eases away the sodden fabric of Stark’s briefs, pressing a kiss to the base of his cock.  

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stark chokes.“Come on, gorgeous, need your cock - “

 

Matt squeezes lube out onto his fingers and presses two into him without warning.Stark exhales sharply, heart fluttering furiously in Matt’s ears, and sinks down onto his hand, muscles of his ass spasming.Matt crooks his fingers, and Stark throws his head back, demands, “Another.”A third finger has Stark’s hips moving in little thrusts, fucking himself on Matt’s hand, and if that isn’t the hottest fucking thing - 

 

“Good,” Stark declares.“Alright, come on, fuck me.” 

 

Matt pulls his fingers out, and he can’t get his own zipper undone with the lube so Stark sits up to do it, stays up to squeeze lube onto his fingers and then fist Matt’s cock, and a full-body electric charge goes through Matt at the sensation, he can’t help the way his hips buck forward into Stark’s hand.

 

Then Stark’s laying back, legs bracketing Matt’s waist, and Matt falls foward into him.Finds his hole again with his fingers, lines himself up and pushes in in one smooth stroke. 

 

All the air goes out of his lungs.He lets his head hang, lets himself say, “Fuck.Fuck, you’re tight.Tony.”

 

Tony’s heels are digging into Matt’s ass.His fingers dig into Matt’s face, his neck, when he pulls him down to kiss him, wrapping their tongues together.He rolls his hips, sliding off Matt a little and then back on, and - _fuck_.That feels fatastic.Fuck.

 

“Fucking move, kid,” Stark says.He sounds wrung-out, already, but also wound tight.

 

Matt pulls out almost all the way and slams back into him.The whole couch moves, and Stark reaches back to brace himself against the arm, tilting his hips up to meet him when Matt thrusts home.Then he closes his eyes and sees stars and loses everything but the sensation, the in-and-out, wet-and-heat, the sound of Stark grunting and the sensation of him clenching around him, and neither of them last very long.

 

Later, Matt is laying on the floor.Stark is still breathing heavy on the couch above him, still pants-less.Matt’s glasses are - somewhere.Gone.Lost forever, probably.Who the fuck cares.  

 

“So,” Stark says, conversationally, but it sounds ominous.It sounds like _so, we should talk.We should put a label on this thing_.Instead, it’s just, “I’m not having sex with anyone else.”

 

Matt isn’t really in the mood to run.It isn’t worth it.He doesn’t want to.“Me neither,” he says.“I’m way too busy to two-time you, Stark.”He’s smiling.That’s dumb.He should stop that.

 

“Alrighty then,” Stark says.And that’s that.  

 


End file.
